Sasha
“How can you allow him to do this to me?” my sister Katarina cries, dropping to her knees at our brother’s feet. “How can you let him marry me off like I’m livestock?”
“Livestock does not get married off,” Dimitri sighs, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.
“It gets sold,” she fires back, glaring from her spot on the floor. So much for the pretense of pleading. “Just like I am being sold for a casino on the Las Vegas strip.”
Dimitri drops his hand, a grimace pulling at his handsome features. “Technically, the property that Ryker Smith will take over is not on the strip.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” she cries tossing her hands in the air. “That I’m being traded for an inferior casino?”
“You’re not being traded,” Dimitri straightens, his eyes hardening. “First and foremost, you will be protected from our father by being married to such a powerful family.”
I snort and my brother’s glare swings to me. My chin drops a few notches as my eyes swing away, and I remain silent.
First, because I’m not the one being traded like livestock, but second, it’s best if I keep out of my brother’s notice. We’ve not seen our brother in years, he hasn’t cared about us at all.
But now…now that we have a use, now that we can help him beat our father in the war the two of them have waged for years, now he’s become interested in us. No thank you.
I will do everything in my power to get out from under my brother’s thumb.
Katarina and I have an understanding. This is a sinking ship and it’s every woman for herself. It’s been that way for years.
“And who will protect me from my new husband?” Katarina’s voice rises with every word. “You don’t think I haven’t heard the whispers about his family. My future husband. You are tossing me from the frying pan and into the fire!”
I’ve heard them too. Those dark rumors. Ryker Smith is known for his uncompromising and ruthless nature.
Katarina and I find ourselves at the center of a tornado. Stuck between three powerful men and every option is truly terrible. But my father and even my brother, are known enemies to us. The Smiths however…
I hadn’t been in Vegas for ten minutes when stories about Ryker’s closest brother, Killian Smith, painted a picture. The man stalked his wife, who was desperate for money, and then forced her to marry him.
These are not nice men.
Not that our family is any better. Our father hasn’t allowed us to leave the house without a battery of armed guards, meant as much to keep us from escaping as for our protection, for the last five years.
For all intents and purposes, we’ve been locked in a prison. Now, Katarina is twenty-three, and I’m twenty-one, and we’re free from our Russian prison. We’re in the United States for one purpose…marry to strengthen our family’s business connections.
Only our loving brother—note my sarcasm—stole us from our father and is now brokering Katarina’s marriage deal himself.
I’ve got a great family.
I only realize my brother and sister have continued the conversation without me when Katarina smacks my arm. “Tell him, Sasha.”
I give my sister, and then my brother, a blank stare. “Tell him what?”
She lets out a long huff. “Focus, Sasha. Don’t crap out on me now.”
I wince. There are a few areas that I can focus with absolute and intense concentration. Numbers, for example, just stick in my head.
Conversations about feelings, not so much.
“I’m not crapping out,” I frown, my brow creasing. I was just contemplating the likelihood that the Smiths are as ruthlessly narcissistic as our father, or as cruelly uncaring as our brother. The brothers are in the same business as my family. They are willing to arrange marriages for financial gain. They build apartment buildings with the strength of bomb shelters—
“Sasha,” Dimitri barks with a scowl. “There are enough opinions in this conversation. We don’t need yours.”
I tell myself to remain silent, but once Katarina is married, I will be the next pawn put into play. “I’ll give it anyway. I’d say the likelihood is very high that the Smiths are terrible people. And Ryker Smith—”
His scowl deepens. “I know them. They are leagues better than our father.”
Katarina snorts. “That’s not saying much, if it’s even true.”
Dimitri looks up at the ceiling. “The deal is done. The wedding is happening. And you will be protected under the Smiths’ care. This is not up for discussion.”
I wrinkle my nose.
Katarina will be protected—at least that’s our brother’s theory. He’s conveniently leaving out all that he’ll gain from the match. Last I heard, he’d get a piece of Vegas’s most prized real estate, while Katarina gets to live with a monster.
Which is exactly why I’m not letting my brother or my father marry me off.
I’ve got my own plan.
All I need is a little cash.
“I won’t do it,” Katarina cries, her hands clenching into fists, as she surges back to her feet. “You can’t make me.”
Dimitri’s glare is so fierce, we both step back. I was still a child the last time I saw him. I don’t know this man or what he’s capable of and I don’t care to find out.
“I will see you wed to Ryker Smith,” he grits through clenched teeth. “It’s in your best interest and mine. This conversation is done.”
And then he turns, leaving our apartment, and slamming the door behind him.
The Smiths, or the Kincaids—I can’t keep track of these Las Vegas families—have moved us into a building with top security.
They say it’s for our protection. That’s what our father said too, but I know a prison when I’m contained in one.
Cameras everywhere, guards at the entrance and exits, elevators that double as vaults. This is a prison.
And my brother, Dimitri, he’s my new jailer.
I draw in a deep breath as Katarina pushes back up to her feet. “Can you believe that?”
“No,” I shake my head. “All this time, we thought Dimitri would save us…”
“Seriously,” she shakes her head. “He’s just as bad as otets.”
He is not as bad as our father. Our father would have left a plethora of bruises all over Katarina for her impertinence and might have thrown in a broken arm for good measure.
But there is nothing to be gained by pointing this out. “What will you do?”
“I’m not marrying him.” Katarina’s chin notches. “I’ve been a slave long enough.”
“How will you get out of the match?” I ask, turning toward her. We look alike. Same dark hair, same grayish-green eyes, same classic features.
But where I’m petite, Katarina is statuesque. And where I’m analytical, Katarina is brimming with emotion.
“Don’t worry about that. We’re Russian. I’ll come up with something.”
But we’re running out of time. The wedding is the day after tomorrow. Once Katarina is married, I’m sure Dimitri will turn his attention to me.
Which means I’ve got a very narrow window of time in which to enact my plan.
Katarina flounces off to her room, leaving me in the living area. I can give the Smiths credit on one front. It’s a very nice apartment. A luxury kitchen with a large island moves into an eating area, which then flows seamlessly into the living room.
A small hall leads to two bedrooms, each with their own bathroom.
I walk down the hall, turning right into my bedroom. The slider at the back opens to a balcony, a vertical row of them leading from my third-floor unit to the ground.
That’s how I’ll escape.
Reaching under my mattress, I pull out a roll of money that I’d carefully concealed for such an occasion.
My plan is simple. Using my ability to remember numbers, I am going to visit a smaller, less-secure casino, where I’ll count the cards and make enough to buy my way out of Vegas.
Thanks to my father, I already have passports and credentials for three different aliases.
All I need is money.
Simple.
Hopefully.
I take the roll of bills and toss it on the bed as I get ready to change.
I’ve never been to one of the Vegas casinos before, but Russian gambling houses have fairly strict dress codes.
I can’t wear a gown while shimmying down balconies, but I have a pair of black dress pants that should do the trick.
Pulling them from my drawer, I add a sparkly top and then brush my long brown hair until it shines, before pulling it up into a twist.
Gloss goes on my full lips and dark eyeliner and mascara around my long dark lashes.
In Russia, both Katarina and I were considered beauties.
I don’t know about that. But my pink glittering top brings out the color of my cheeks and compliments the brown of my hair.
Satisfied that I won’t look like I don’t belong, I tuck the money roll into the back of my pants. In a small backpack I pack my passports, a toothbrush and a few pairs of underwear and then sit on the bed, waiting for dark.
Cameras line both the inside and the outside of the building.
I’ve timed them, of course, learned their schedules as they move back and forth across the side of the building, but I’m going to hedge my bets and wait for dark.
The later it grows, the busier the casino will be, and the easier it will be to blend in with the crowd.
The Vegas sun slowly sinks, painting the sky in hues of orange and red. I like the desert. It has its own beauty that is undeniable.
Too bad I’m not staying.
As the last rays disappear and the sky is shrouded in darkness, I move to the slider, watching the cameras on either corner of the building.
Just as they swing away, I slide open the door and close it softly again.
Pulling myself over the rail, I shimmy down the bars, dangling down until I get a toe on the rail below. If only I had Katarina’s height.
I just get myself balanced on a single big toe, and then I let go of the balcony above. My back tenses and I nearly fall but just manage to crouch and grab the railing under my feet.
For a second, I just catch my breath. But not for too long, I’ve got less than thirty seconds before the cameras swing back around.
Repeating the same process, I make it to the first floor. It’s easier this time and soon, I’m dropping to the ground.
Sneaking into the bushes that line the building, I wait, letting the cameras sweep back my way.
Softly, I count, timing it out until the cameras swing away again, before I dart out of the bushes and into the street.
The air whooshes from my lungs as adrenaline fills my limbs.
I’m free.
For the first time in my entire life, I’m the master of my own destiny.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is only step one.
Step two is to actually acquire enough money so I can get somewhere that no one will find me.
Not my father. Not my brother. And not my sister’s new family.
The Smith brothers can all go to the devil. And Ryker in particular, is a man I don’t want to know. I met him once and he made me feel…uncomfortable.
The thought steels my spine, though I know the next part is much harder than the first as I couldn’t do much to prepare.
I step out from the side street and onto the strip.
Lights flash, people laughing as they crowd the sidewalks, raising giant cocktails to one another. It’s jarring and I shrink away.
I can feel that I don’t match their energy, that I’m going to stand out because of it.
I’ve never been good at putting on a face. Katarina can smile and laugh with a knife at her back, but I can’t pretend like that.
I stop at the fountains at the Bellagio as they begin their hourly show, the spray from the water misting my skin. I could go inside, but a place of that quality will have security of the highest caliber.
Knowing that I’m giving off vibes of desperation, I keep walking toward old Vegas, where I’ll fit in far better.
The strip is one giant party. Old Vegas is for hard-timers. People who want their drinks without umbrellas and their dinners two-for-one.
But I’m going there because the security is also a lot laxer. They are not places for high rollers.
I move past the bachelorette parties and frat gatherings and keep making my way toward Fremont Street.
It’s a further walk than I thought and I can feel the sweat dripping down my back, even in the cooler night air.
My feet already ache and my makeup is starting to run.
That’s when the Palace comes into view.
Removed from the rest of the new casinos, it’s got a different vibe from the new Las Vegas Strip.
For a few seconds, I just stand there, indecision making me rock as I nip at my lip.
Drawing in a breath, I make my choice and cross the street, entering the massive lobby.
It’s easy enough to find the casino floor. Cashing in my money, I take my pile of chips and search for a table.
I’ve decided that five-card draw will be my game. I’ve been thinking about what sort of dealer I should choose, and I’ve decided on an older man. Women are shrewd, and older men are frequently protective rather than suspicious of young ladies.
Counting cards is a delicate art, believe it or not. You have to figure out where the deck is at, start keeping track of the cards that have been played, find the rhythm before the deck turns over and gets washed.
You also have to have enough money to buy your way through the learning, without arousing suspicion.
I’ve played poker with my guards since I was a small child, and my memory for tracking cards is flawless.
But the nuance of reading the dealer and keeping the proper temperament, I trust myself way less.
I’ll have to do my best. I choose a dealer who is younger than I hoped, but he’s washing a fresh deck. With no automatic shuffler, my job is much easier since there will only be one deck to count.
After watching as many hands as I think I can get away with, I take a seat, doing my best to not look scared out of my mind.
Which isn’t really a stretch. But I’m going for innocent-worried rather than guilty-as-hell and frightened-out-of-my-wits.
He deals a single card to each player to determine who has first betting rights and when I’m dealt a king, I know I’m off to a good start.
It doesn’t take me long before I win, knowing that the likelihood of the dealer getting the ace he’d need was nearly impossible.
And then I win again. And again.
The dealer goes from smiling to suspicious over the course of four hands, which is my cue to stop.
Collecting up my winnings, I pick a new table.
I’ll do one more table, cash in my chips, and move on to another casino.
I pick my mark, watching several hands before I take a seat.
I blow out a breath, the dealer is giving me a weird look. Should I have already left the Palace after one table? Looking around, I swear one of the security guards is eyeing me.
I feel my anxiety rising, a problem I’ve struggled with my entire life. Rolling my shoulders, I clasp my hands under the table and then I start tapping my fingers into my palm, and then against my legs.
It’s an exercise one of the nannies taught me to control my fear and calm my nerves, but it’s not working here.
What’s more, I watch one of the guards speak into walkie talkie as he looks at me, his gaze taking in my fingers tapping on my legs.
I blink my eyes, and clench my hands into fists, losing focus on the hand and the cards at play.
Still, somehow, I win the hand and then another. I know I need to leave soon, but I’ve just gotten a handle on this deck and for the work I’ve put in, I’d like a few more winning hands.
But that was a mistake. I win one more, determined to make the next hand my last at this table, and this casino, when I get a tap on the shoulder.
This is completely different than the tapping I’m unconsciously doing on my knee.
I turn to see a very stern-looking security guard glaring down at me. “Come with me, miss.”
My mouth opens and then closes as I do a quick calculation of the chips in front of me. I’ve barely been here an hour, and I’ve already made over fifty grand.
It’s a lot, but is it really enough to get me in trouble? I start to gather up my chips, but the guard’s hand comes to my shoulder. “Leave them,” he rumbles gruffly.
“But I won them,” I cry, ignoring the shifting of the other gamblers even as the dealer pulls out a fresh deck. “They’re mine.”
Another guard joins the first, his hand coming to my other shoulder. Cold fear trickles down my spine. “Bag them up,” he says to the dealer. “Mister Smith can decide if she gets to keep them or not.”
My muscles turn to jelly. “Mister Smith?”
“That’s right, girlie. Ryker Smith wants to see you.” And then he yanks me up by my upper arm.
My legs don’t work, and I start to go down before the other guard grabs my other side and the two of them start dragging me across the casino floor.
If my brain could function, I’d ask myself how I managed to be in one of my sister’s fiancé’s casinos.
Then again, I should have known. In Vegas, the Smiths are real-estate gods—and criminals besides.
They are above the law, which means that Ryker Smith can do with his thieving little sister-in-law whatever he wishes.
What will he choose? I’m about to find out.
